


Lullaby for a Cat

by trustmeallnight



Series: Striped Tiger and his Love [1]
Category: NU'EST
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst and Fluff and Smut, M/M, Tiger Hybrid Kang Dongho | Baekho, light smut though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:00:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23802748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trustmeallnight/pseuds/trustmeallnight
Summary: Dongho is a pretty luxury breed who deserves the best. His best just happens to be Kim Jonghyun.
Relationships: Choi Minki | Ren/Kang Dongho | Baekho, Hwang Minhyun/Kang Dongho | Baekho, Kang Dongho | Baekho/Aaron Kwak | Aron, Kang Dongho | Baekho/Everyone, Kang Dongho | Baekho/Kim Jonghyun | JR
Series: Striped Tiger and his Love [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1840630
Comments: 18
Kudos: 43





	Lullaby for a Cat

**Author's Note:**

> wow no explicit? some world we live in (i swear im trying my hardest on the hyung kink sequel my brain just hurts)
> 
> this one is so so inspired by this one fic i read a long time ago... literally the best i've ever read just amazing chef's kiss level i needed to see it in this fandom
> 
> also to my one mutual who is sugar baby dongho's biggest advocate, IM SORRY IM WRITING A PROPER ONE I SWEAR

On late Monday nights, Dongho slipped in his car and drove down to the newest address posted in his phone. There was always a smooth purr under his hands and a silent interior as the car ran down the crowded streets of Hongdae. It wasn't the old family car he came to the city with all those years ago that sped past green lights; it was the sleek red car that Mingi had gifted him the minute Dongho purred under his touch. It was opulence sitting in idle in the middle of stopped traffic, but coming to a stop at a club filled with neon lights and a thrumming beat, it was just another piece of wealth. Much like him who stepped out and got curious stares as he walked right in.

Mingi was never hard to find in the crowded darkness, even if Dongho was down on the main floor squished between attractive bodies and wandering hands and the younger man was two stories up in the VIP area. Dongho looked for whoever had the brightest hair, the loudest laugh, and bore the glint of shimmering gold necklaces and earrings.

He couldn’t handle liquor very well, but trailing up to greet the dozens of people who all brushed past him with playful eyes, Dongho felt compelled to take up whatever Mingi handed him.

"Only the best for a gorgeous tiger, right?"

Dongho nodded even as his nose scrunched up at the awful, bitter taste masqueraded as raspberries. Mingi laughed at him, dumping his own shot straight down without regret and twirling his hand around Dongho's tail.

"This is all yours, Dongho. You deserve it."

Once he joined his company, the bustling model, and allowed burning vodka to slide down his throat, he was pulled into a rush that belonged only to Choi Mingi.

Monday nights were hazes in Dongho’s memories that barely made it to the end of the week. His eyes, glassy as they were, didn’t take in a single thing except the way Mingi looked, enjoying all of the attention surrounding them. The model handed him shot after shot, screamed out into the air, and danced all of his troubles away. 

Clumsy, tipsy Dongho enjoyed it though, like he was told. He threw his hands in the air, swayed to the rough house beat, and closed his eyes as hands ascended towards him like claws. They touched his ears, stupidly commenting on how soft they felt, and they touched his tail, grabbing it with rough holds and admiring its length. They held onto his tight jeans as they stuffed handfuls of cash and messily scrawled phone numbers into his pockets, his belt, wherever they could find places to reward him. 

They told him he was beautiful, that his fur was so soft, that his breed was so elegant and tasteful. That Mingi and he were such a good-looking couple that it was impossible for the model to not have picked the rarest, prettiest pet.

The compliments turned into greed as they got braver and liquor kept pouring down their throats. They started to whisper lustful offers to him, telling him about how much they’d give just to fuck him once and drunkenly asking if he really did get wet for dick like they thought cats did. They drew his attention in every direction with their sparkling rings and lowered, full eyes all the while holding onto his body as if they had paid for their own plot of skin.

"Why don't you spend time with me, darling?"

"You look so good dancing like that, kitty, _fuck_."

He only smiled demurely at the stray words and stumbled closer to Mingi. The game ended as quickly as Dongho had lured them in with wide, confused eyes. The outstretched hands can’t touch what belonged to the loud, vibrant model, and they soon retracted as fast as they touched him. 

The nights spent in darkened VIP lounges with a rumbling bass in his chest passed by as quickly as the room spun the more he stuck close to Mingi. Hours and people came, and they went, and that’s how Dongho spent his time with Mingi’s hand stuck in his pocket and grabbing onto him as a stake.

When Dongho stumbled out of the cab at 4 AM, Mingi’s car long forgotten at the club and Mingi himself draped over his personal driver’s shoulder, he went all the way up to his condo. He forgot the bathroom and instead struggled to free himself of the skin tight clothes. Even if they ripped at the seams at times, only because Dongho’s fatigue meant he bit his way out of the shirt, he knew Mingi would buy him the next one with the latest season on the tag. The empty trash can in the corner of his room filled up as he dumped whichever human crammed their numbers into his pants into the garbage. 

Only his worn-out pajamas provided him relief for the night, the soft fabric letting him breath freely for once. The darkness of his room became solitary, and his chest always felt lighter without the hauntingly familiar bass pounding in his head. He finally fell into short, fitful sleeps on late Monday nights, hands tucked in 1,000 thread count sheets and crumpled, brightly colored won littering the bed and framing his body.

* * *

Early Tuesday mornings had Dongho climbing into Hwang Minhyun’s bed right in the heart of Cheongdam, Seoul. He slipped right past the cold living room once he entered the apartment, down the equally cold hallway, and right under Minhyun’s sheets, somehow still as cold as the man’s apartment.

“Good morning,” Dongho whispered as he trailed a finger down Minhyun’s pale cheek.

The man shuffled, his eyebrows scrunching as the open blinds finally hit his eyelids. He was careful in how he opened his eyes in the morning, only fully awake when he processed Dongho’s soft smile finally on top of him. He seemed livelier, as if Dongho’s presence cleansed all one hundred of his problems away with just a twitch of his white ear.

After all, Dongho was CFO Hwang Minhyun’s favorite.

“I wish I could have you more often,” Minhyun often told him as Dongho waited around for the man to finish making breakfast. 

Dongho shrugged then, tail slowly flicking across the couch as he watched Minhyun’s slender hands move silently across the kitchen counter. His nose wiggled at the delicious smells filling the room, and he never bothered to hide his excitement for Minhyun’s food. 

Minhyun never minded, though, when Dongho bumbled up to the table to eat. He only admired Dongho’s sharp canines biting into toast and bushy tail swaying in the air with tiny, scrunched eyes.

Dongho truly, _truly_ was Minhyun’s favorite.

“Do you want it?”

“How do you like it?”

"Wouldn't that look good on you? Here, I'll get it."

There’s not a single variation of those questions Dongho hadn’t heard from Minhyun. Whatever Dongho wanted, Minhyun would stop just short of getting on his knees to grab it for Dongho. That’s how he went out on most nights: with the gold watch Minhyun got him for his birthday, the sneakers Minhyun’s black card swiped for when Dongho got sulky, and the tiny silk bow at the base of his tail with Minhyun’s company name stitched right on the edges.

“Anything you need before I leave?” Minhyun always asked as he knotted his tie in front of the grand mirror. It was either black, gray, or navy placed over a pristine white dress shirt that was tucked into long, fitted trousers. His missing briefcase was perched on Dongho’s lap.

“A kiss.”

And Dongho got what he wanted. Minhyun slipped a hand in the handle of his briefcase and another in Dongho’s hair as he leaned in to meet Dongho’s parted lips. 

Kisses with Minhyun were soft and delicate. They were as smooth as the pour of milk into latte, as entrancing as the way white swirls in the cup, and as sweet as the pastry that crumbled on napkins. Chaste kisses came first before Minhyun’s lip balm had Dongho biting into the man’s lip. Minhyun smiled into the kiss, opening his mouth for an exploring, rough tongue.

In the brightest of the sun’s light on an early Tuesday, when even the birds were awake and chirping to the sounds of honking cars and squeaking bus brakes, Minhyun and Dongho kissed passionately. Peeks of pink tongues teased what would come later, but at those precise moments, nothing mattered but the arms flung around Minhyun’s neck and the grasping hold on Dongho’s hair. 

Dongho panted as he pulled off. Minhyun, ever so composed, straightened out and lifted his case from Dongho’s thighs. Somehow, Dongho would feel even more admiration pouring out from every one of Minhyun’s pores.

“Wait for me,” Minhyun said as he trailed off, his eyes not leaving Dongho’s as long as he could. It was always pure adoration. Dongho could tell all Minhyun ever wanted to do was drop his whole life and live at the feet of his favorite pet. 

“I’ll see you later,” Dongho said. His tail lazily swung side by side as he watched Minhyun’s long legs walk out of the door before he plopped back down on the sheets and slept with a full stomach.

Tuesday mornings were calm and peaceful. He had his homemade breakfast, watched Minhyun dress himself, gave the man a kiss like his little housewife, and lived as if it was his own doings that got him to where he was. 

* * *

On Wednesdays, Dongho was stuck all the way up in the sky overlooking the busiest of Seoul’s intersections. Wall to wall glass windows framed by black had him often gazing out into the city where tiny people crawled to wherever they were needed. On other other hand, Dongho stayed put high up ten floors above them, lounging in offices they wished they could own while not lifting a single finger.

There was much space within Mr. Kwak’s office where he spent his Wednesdays. In the afternoon, Dongho arched his back, stretched his spine against the sofa’s armrest, playfully clawed against the gray carpet, crawled on red knees under the boss’ desk to suck him off. 

How easy was it? 

He was just as productive as the little employee dogs that fell head first for Aaron’s attention, and all Dongho had to do was sit pretty in his office. That sent rumblings throughout his chest as he looked up at the boss’s handsome jawline.

“I would recommend printing our column in Gangnam as well,” Aaron says, his request just one out of the many conversations he had with his employees daily. It’s rare that Dongho ever cared enough to remember the busy man’s talk. All he remembered was the scent of pinewood and skin as he swallowed Aaron’s cock right under the cover of the desk.

Dongho anticipated the rough hand that pushed him down even more on the length stuck in his throat. He had learned how to take all of the human’s demands as Aaron just kept talking and talking but pushed for more and more. He gave in easily to the incessant presses, tried his absolute best to receive his perfect performance evaluation. That was just who he was.

Not once had the noisy slurping of him swallowing his own spit and tonguing the head of Aaron’s cock resulted in the phone being put down. Dongho didn’t mind though. His head was only stuffed with heavy arousal, a thundering need to be Aaron’s best, and a heavier weight laying on his tongue. The bitter taste, much like the alcohol Mingi shoved down his throat on Mondays, was nothing compared to the soft encouraging strokes on the back of his head.

It was efficient the way Aaron tucked himself back in when he silently came down Dongho’s throat. Not a single drop was wasted as Dongho leaned back on his thighs, wiping hands across his mouth as he crawled back to the couch to continue watching outside. The worker ants still crowded the streets, and Dongho grew irritated at their inability to do more than just crawl, crawl, and crawl.

Much like he was bored with the same damned streets lining Seoul, Dongho learned to develop a distaste for the workday through his time with Aaron. There were always the same people bumbling in and out of his office, holding the same papers, boasting the same cheery smiles for their boss. Dongho watched them all with slow flicks of his tail, and his disdain grew slowly for the people crowding around Aaron.

Was he feeling trapped even as he hung free in the air ten floors above the heads of those he didn’t care about? Did he really just hate the attention on Aaron? Did he just despise the way Aaron seemed to pay more attention to those ants more than the pretty breed sitting on his couch? 

When the day ended, and Aaron picked up his phone for the last time, Dongho couldn’t get out of there so quickly. He was more aware of the tiny smile he never once got, of the chuckle that seemed so foreign to his ears, and of the silver glint of the metal band sitting on Aaron’s finger that made Dongho’s empty one itch.

Wednesdays seemed a little bit too lonely, the more he rode isolated elevators down into the depths of the dark parking lot and drove home with a growing unfulfillingness in his chest. Those days he couldn’t pretend he was someone who longed for less than what he knew he deserved, even when his bank account grew just hours before Wednesday ended.

Was it arrogance?

* * *

There was no time to ponder on what he thought Fridays and Saturdays meant to him. All he knew were the familiar hands shaking him awake and an even more familiar body lining up with his as he woke, and that was enough. 

Kim Jonghyun was always more than enough, even.

“Tiger,” Jonghyun whispered in his ear, “good morning.” 

His bed was warmer than any other day, and he felt not a shred of loneliness as Jonghyun nosed at his ear. In fact, he never felt anything besides a low simmering of _love_ on those days. Not even the adrenaline of darkened nightclubs had his heart pounding as fast as when he turned around to meet Kim Jonghyun’s focused eyes. They were always eyes that held Dongho as the spotlight, eyes that didn’t take in his spotted black and white fur and yearned for ownership.

He made little to none on Fridays and Saturdays, but he felt prosperous as ever. Cheongdam’s high rise apartment could never compare to the weight of Jonghyun on his chest during afternoon naps, and Seoul’s overall beautiful landscape was nothing when Jonghyun held his hand as they touched knees in Dongho’s bathtub. How could he ask what he usually expected? From Jonghyun, the bumbling yet hardworking amateur dance trainer that made so little that he had to dash all the way to the barbecue restaurant two blocks away everyday just to get by? Dongho even felt compelled to care for Jonghyun, but some things were better left untouched and untried. 

“I feel bad,” Jonghyun had said some time ago when Dongho finally gave his apartment key to Jonghyun and they hugged under the streetlight right outside Pledis Entertainment, an unknown little building that only boasted two floors.

Dongho had sighed then leant further into Jonghyun’s shoulder as he told Jonghyun not to. It was just for the two of them. 

“You’re not a client, Jonghyun-ah. You’re mine.”

_His_. Dongho was allowed that. Jonghyun was his, and he was Jonghyun’s in every sense. None of them owned his heart the way Jonghyun thoroughly held his in a soft palm.There was the freedom to flood Dongho’s pulsing heart with as much affection as possible, and there was the uncertain possibility he could crush it into a mess at any ticking second, but Dongho accepted it just as he accepted the way Jonghyun hesitantly gave over his own love.

On Friday nights, Jonghyun tucked himself away from the cruel, materialistic world in the comfort of Dongho’s thighs. It was almost calculating how soft his skin was. Jonghyun hated it, hated how every part of Dongho was designed to be perfect and accommodating despite how much he absolutely enjoyed it. Dongho laughed at the man’s internal struggles. How could Jonghyun, a simple man, hate something that others begged to have?

It was ironic, then, when Jonghyun twisted all of his beliefs and confessed that what everyone wanted was why he hated.

“To me, Kang Dongho is something special. You’re one in… in infinity,” Jonghyun had said as he slowly thrusted into Dongho’s wet ass on just another Friday night, “But to you, I’m just someone who finally treated you properly. How pathetic is that when all I can offer you is decency?” 

Jonghyun looked so broken then as he hovered above Dongho. His arms caged Dongho’s shoulders in, and his hips moved languidly with a sense of experience, but his eyes were alight with something unfamiliar.

“It doesn’t feel right.”

Dongho had silently watched as Jonghyun’s own visible tears trailed down in tiny droplets. He was between Jonghyun’s arms, the place he missed the most as he got past those Mondays, those Tuesdays, all of those days he’s not in his favorite human’s arms, but there he was, feeling as incomplete as Jonghyun looked.

“Don’t say that, Jonghyun,” Dongho whined as he threw his hips in circles, as if Jonghyun would retract his words if Dongho just gave the man what he only ever knew. It was unfortunate how what Dongho knew was what Jonghyun despised.

He was reminded of how easy and how hard it is to see Kim Jonghyun and his sad, teary eyes every now and often. They slept on the couch Minhyun bought for him, they playfully splashed each other with water that came from Aaron’s paid bills, and they made love under the night sky, covered by expensive silk curtains and cashmere blankets personally shipped in by Mingi. It’s all down to the last porcelain mug that Jonghyun used that Dongho knew twisted his face every time.

“You’re not like them,” Dongho said as Jonghyun was pulled further into his arms, “don’t you know that I love you?” He kissed Jonghyun’s face all over to prove it.

But, no matter what Dongho said as Jonghyun slowly fucked into him, whatever desperate plea he choked out into the man’s ear, and despite all of the kisses embedded into Jonghyun’s skin, they both knew it was worth nothing the next day. All Dongho could offer to an irreversibly heartbroken Jonghyun was his warm embrace and inviting thighs on those worsening Friday nights.

“Jonghyun-ah, I’d follow you wherever you go,” Dongho kept saying without fail afterwards. And it held true. If Jonghyun just asked, he would have readily dropped his life, his busy days, and curled up into Jonghyun’s arms for as long as the human lived.

But Jonghyun’s furrowed eyebrows, always so expressive that Dongho has learned to hate that about the man now, knew it was impossible. Dongho was and _is_ a luxury, an expensive treat of a breed that was born to be spoiled beyond what anyone could give him. That’s why he lived in the highest floor of a building Jonghyun was always scared to enter in his own torn jeans, why he always seemed so entranced at the simple and straightforward meals Jonghyun made, and why his eyes always held a certain gleam that told everyone he wanted something even if he lied to Jonghyun about wanting absolutely nothing. 

“Do you believe me?”

Jonghyun’s face was pained as he spotted that ever present shine and felt the soft squeeze of Dongho’s hand as he asked for the trust Jonghyun promised him all that time ago. Dongho ignored the glistening hurt, like the fucking fool he was, and smiled the smiles he gave to faceless models and office workers.

“I always do,” Jonghyun said as he tightly held Dongho’s fingers between his own and shut his eyes against an impossibly idealistic treasure.

_But I could never ask that of you._

* * *

On Friday afternoons and Saturday evenings, Dongho would spend his time with his favorite. There was always the sweet anticipation of Kim Jonghyun’s kisses, hugs, smiles, laughter, whatever made the whole package that was _him_. No amount of money was ever paid enough to make Dongho cancel those days. 

It never really mattered though. The money has burnt to ash in his mind and he’s still alone as ever.

Dongho _would_ spend time with his favorite on Fridays and Saturdays, and now he doesn’t. Now, Dongho sits on Yanghwa Bridge’s metal edges and stares down into dark, lapping water without a single whisper by his side. 

It’s Friday night, and Dongho spends his time feeling the breeze bite at his bare skin and watches the moon. It’s not Mingi, Minhyun, Aaron, or their money that has him dragging himself off of the railing and falling down to his knees. Jonghyun’s fringe is absent under the void of a sky, and he can’t stand it, so he cowers under unforgiving metal and wills his breaking heart to handle itself for just a little bit more.

He remembers how Jonghyun walked in the door like he was staying forever, and he remembers how he himself was stupidly foolish for those naive thoughts. He easily welcomed Jonghyun into his bed, like always, and leaned in for kisses that were left untouched as Jonghyun ruined their days with just a single decision. 

_Not my decision_ , Dongho thinks bitterly, _but his._

Dongho was inconsolable on that day, the days after that, and these days as well. It never sunk in, and it still doesn’t now, that Jonghyun left his door hanging wide open for their last Saturday, and all Dongho could do was sit on his thighs and wonder in what fold of their passing timelines did it all go wrong.

The last moments he had with Jonghyun where he was unknowing are his favorites, when he kissed the human on the lips as a small breakfast was offered to him, when Jonghyun watched the last movie with him before he tore down their rosy-colored lenses.

Jonghyun told him he couldn’t spend his Fridays or his Saturdays with him. He wouldn’t spend any day with him. Jonghyun had no capacity to say it cruelly, either, and they were stuck gasping for air as Dongho lost it. Even when Dongho had begged to his last breath, though, Jonghyun didn’t spare any day at all. 

“You deserve more than me, Dongho.” _Someone who can make you happy in all the ways I can’t_. 

There’s claw marks still embedded deep in his wall and probably still cuts deep into Jonghyun’s jeans, but Dongho still remembers the way Jonghyun’s eyes still loved him even as desperate fingers dug into his leg and clamped down. And when Dongho started tearing down everything within his reach, it still never satisfied his anger. Jonghyun didn’t stop him, but he still didn’t give back any of their days together, so Dongho didn’t care. 

Thoughtless. So, so ignorant. Because he cares now, when it’s all a second too late. Stupid.

There’s a million things Dongho wants to ask now. He was so selfish then, when he had all of that time and he couldn’t do anything but beg through tears for someone who just wanted the best for both of them. Now, he’s stuck with spiralling thoughts that can’t find ways to escape even in the open air.

_Where are you?_

_I miss you._

_Are you doing okay out there?_

_Come back to me._

_I’m afraid. Of both being alone and the thought that you lost our love to this soulless city._

Where has his Fridays gone? Why do his days feel so empty when he has all that he could ever want in his small life?

His weeks are churning and passing, and he still seems stuck on that day. 

Is he really living day to day?

“I’ll return to you someday. That’s my promise to you,” Jonghyun had said all those months ago as he stroked Dongho’s tear-streaked cheek, “to my tiger.”

How selfish was Dongho when Jonghyun had broken down, weeping silently above his head and holding tightly onto his shoulders as if Dongho was the one leaving. How could Dongho desperately love someone when all he thinks about is his own breaking heart in his full chest?

“When, Jonghyun? When?” Dongho had shouted right in his face. Selfish. “Why do you need these stupid promises when all you want to do is stay?”

Dongho never realized it, but he had screamed at Jonghyun through blurring tears wearing Minhyun’s cotton shirt. It’s now torn and lying in whatever alleyway he threw it into, but it’s not like Jonghyun would ever know. Still so damningly selfish. Perhaps that was why Jonghyun couldn’t take it anymore.

Jonghyun didn’t get mad, though, simply because Jonghyun _never_ got mad. He grabbed Dongho’s hand, as he always did, and it was reminiscent of when they were innocent and in love. When money didn't flash by their heads, seeped in through Dongho's hollow apartment, and left Jonghyun's hand blistering and constantly grabbing at nothing.

“When I can make you leave them.”

“Are you kidding? I’ll do it right now, you _idiot_.” Dongho jabbed right at Jonghyun’s chest. 

“Happily, Dongho. Without you worrying about me. About us,” Jonghyun replied, his eyes as sad as the nights he spent pouring all of his insecurities into Dongho’s sweat-stained neck as they both groaned in pleasure and hurt. All of the pummeling on his chest with Dongho’s closed fists in the world couldn’t stop Jonghyun from nuzzling Dongho’s forehead and pressing his last kiss there.

Dongho’s phone beeps in his pocket, and he opens it with unfocused eyes. 

**[Hwang Minhyun]:** are you free tonight?

I miss you.

come over?

Dongho’s grip on his phone tightens as tears well up in his eyes. He no longer sees Minhyun’s message anymore, all fumbled Korean characters that make him think of no one but a poor amateur dance trainer from Gangneung that managed to steal a tiger’s ridiculously expensive heart.

In the corner of his phone, it finally strikes 00:00. 

**[Hwang Minhyun]:** I know you dont usually come on fridays but

please?

**[Me]:** Okay

It’s a lonely, late Friday night, and Dongho shakes on his knees under the calculating structure of Yanghwa Bridge. 

Dongho knows he can’t run, no matter how many days he spends with messy hair and an equally messy tail without _his_ constant nagging. Even when Jonghyun’s fringe and oversized sweater drifts in and out of half-asleep dreams and Dongho can do nothing but claw at thin air when those memories fly right out of his condo, Dongho doesn’t chase it through Seoul’s blinding streets even though his feet shake in his sleep from how much he wants to seek them out.

Jonghyun made a promise to him, after all. And who is Jonghyun if not the man who keeps his promises? Dongho will stay put in his apartment then, in other people’s arms, surviving and living through his weeks. He’s always been obedient, and for once, Jonghyun had invoked it.

As Dongho separates from the cold of metal railings and sets his destination to Cheongdam to attach himself to equally cold arms, Dongho can’t help but feel bitter as much as he feels hopeful. 

He’s given up his Friday nights to take solace in empty, uncaring sheets. He hates it, and he hates Kim Jonghyun for taking what were always his days. But hating Jonghyun comes with facing the fact that it goes hand in hand with loving Jonghyun for even giving him the nights he looked forward to. They’re distant memories that Dongho hopes can leave him with little bites every time until the day Jonghyun returns as whole. 

In front of him, the twinkling lights of the city welcome Dongho to what he truly belongs in. Dongho walks alone through frigid wind with only his own arms to wrap around himself, and he holds onto promises that stick like mantras on this lonely, lonely night.

“You’re my end goal, so don’t forget me, Dongho.”

**Author's Note:**

> twt @ ifwithoutlove


End file.
